


CAUGHT IN THE ACT

by AgnesClementine



Series: FIGHTERS OF THE GOOD FIGHT [3]
Category: Supernatural, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Gen, for Supernatural that is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 15:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18144008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgnesClementine/pseuds/AgnesClementine
Summary: The Winchesters are in the city, there's a witch to kill, and Diego potentially signs his own death.





	CAUGHT IN THE ACT

**Author's Note:**

> No Klaus in this one, BUT the next one should have him ;)
> 
> Let me know what you think and enjoy! :)

Diego rubs his palms on the edge of the table, counting the numerous scars on his hands from all the times he nicked himself while playing, erm, training with his knives. It’s stupid, he doesn’t even know why he’s nervous.

It's been about two weeks since the ghost thing (and since he last heard from Klaus) and Dean had informed him that they're actually arriving in the city today. _Or, well, arrived_ , he thinks, looking at the clock on the wall. The diner they’re meeting at is comfortably crowded, just enough people not to have them stick out, but not so many that they’d feel uncomfortable.

He’s two seconds away from starting to tear the napkin into pieces when the bell rings above the door and Dean walks in. He…hasn’t changed since the last time Diego saw him. He’s wearing a big, leather jacket though.

He looks around, looking for Diego and he contemplates rising his hand to draw his attention when Dean notices him.

He flashes a grin at Diego and strides toward the booth. He slides in on the opposite bench, feet brushing against Diego’s while he settles comfortably.

He sighs, “Hi, fancy seeing you here,” he says, squints at Diego, “what’s going on with your face?”

“What?” Diego frowns, “What’s wrong with my face?”

Dean shakes his head, “Oh, nothing. There’s just something like a smile on it, but I can’t really tell- ow!”

He glares at Diego, bending down to rub his shin. Diego grins smugly.

“You ass,” Dean tells him, “you know, I don’t feel very welcomed right now.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re a jerk.”

“I’m sorry, am I the one who kicked you?”

Diego just grins wider and calls over a waitress.

  * ●●●●



“ _Oh my God,_ ” Dean says, barely understandable through a mouthful of pie, “holy fuck, this is what Heaven tastes like.”

Diego snorts and scoops another piece of his own slice on a fork, “Yeah, it’s pretty good.”

Dean makes a ‘nuh-uh’ noise, swallows, then says, “Pretty good? Diego, do you know how much pie I had in my life?”

“A lot?”

“ _A lot_. And this is, like, the best I had _ever._ ”

“Uh-huh,” Diego says, looking at him in that ‘indulging a child’ way. Dean isn’t paying attention anyway, completely devoted to the slice of apple pie on his plate. He reminds Diego strangely of a chipmunk…

He shakes his head and keeps eating his own slice.

“Hey, are you working a case, uh, hunt here? In the city?” He asks.

Dean nods, “Uh-huh,” he swallows, “Dad thinks there’s a black dog in the suburbs.”

Diego blinks, “Black dog?”

“Yeah. The lore is kinda vague, but generally, they look like, well, big, black dogs. Not exactly kids friendly, either. Or anything friendly, in fact.”

“Of course,” he pops his knuckles, “is there anything supernatural that isn’t evil?”

Dean laughs, “If there is I haven’t heard of it yet.”

Diego doesn’t know what response he expected, but Dean’s answer doesn’t feel…satisfactory.

He pushes his plate away.

Dean points at it with his fork, “What? You’re done?”

Diego nods, “Go ahead.”

  * ●●●●



Dean is wheezing, laughing so hard he can barely breathe, his shoulders shaking and eyes squeezed shut.

“Wait,” he tries, breaking off into giggles and then wiping his eyes, “you’re- you’re telling me his name was _Dick Stroker_?”

“Yep.”

He throws his head back, laughing soundlessly before getting a grip on himself. Diego was starting to wonder if he’ll pass out from the lack of air.

“Oh, man. That’s hilarious,” Dean says. He sniggers, “Hey, did he try to impale you?”

Diego opens his mouth to respond but gives up when Dean cracks up once more. He settles for kicking him again.

“Ow! Shit, you jackass, that hurts!”

“Good,” Diego responds calmly. He takes the last sip of his coke, ignoring Dean’s- short- glare.

He thumbs the flap on his jacket’s pocket and turns the digits in his head.

“You’re done?”

Dean nods, draining his drink, “Ready to go.”

They make their way to the counter, and Diego is happy to see Agnes, a waitress that’s been working here since…well, forever. When Diego and his siblings were younger (and all together), they would sneak out and come here for a midnight snack. Sometimes, she used to smuggle a free box of donuts for them to take home.

He waves her over and pays for his and Dean’s meal, handing over a few extra bills as well. She smiles, pleasant and warm as always, even though she knows what they’re for.

Dean hums next to him, speaking once she moves over to another customer. “Nice tip. You could get yourself, um… two portions of waffles with maple syrup and a milkshake for that,” he says, reading off the menu.

Diego hums in response and starts toward the door, Dean following. It's warm outside, that type of weather for walks in the park and Diego squints at the sun for a moment.

“Hey, I didn’t get a chance to ask. How’s your brother?”

Diego blinks, “My brother?”

He looks over at Dean, who shrugs, “Yeah. He has to be at least a bit freaked out by the whole ghost thing. Oh. Did you tell him it was the ghost, or-”

“Or did I lie?”

Dean hunches up his shoulders, tipping his head to the side with a nod.

“I didn’t lie.” Not that there was a lot of room for that, anyway. Lying to Klaus about ghosts is as stupid as telling a surgeon how to do his job.

“And how did he take it? The truth, that is.”

Diego chuckles, “Fine.”

“For real?”

“Yeah.”

“…I’m afraid to ask what kind of childhood you guys had if ghosts are no biggie for you,” Dean tells him, unlocking his car and gesturing for Diego to get in.

“Don’t ask then,” Diego responds simply.

Dean huffs, but doesn’t ask.

  * ●●●●



Diego closes the door slowly, careful not to make much noise because even though Dad’s not very likely to leave his study just to see what’s going on, there definitely are other people who like poking their noses in Diego’s business.

He pads over the lobby and reaches the stairs just as Vanya starts playing, her violin echoing through hollow hallways and silent rooms. On tips of his toes, he makes his way up the stairs. The lights are slightly dimmed- sometimes, he wonders if Dad made the house creepy on purpose- and one of the light bulbs is flickering, it’s gonna need to be replaced soon.

He’s just a few steps away from his room when Luther comes in from behind the corner. Diego feels his face pull into a scowl- it’s practically a reflex by now- and Luther frowns at him in response.

“Where were you? You missed the training.”

Diego rolls his eyes, “So? What, Dad’s gonna put me in a corner?” He scoffs and turns to bypass him, reaching for his door.

Hand on the doorknob, he stops when Luther takes hold of his upper arm, preventing him from moving further.

He spins to look at his brother, “Let go of me,” he hisses. He hates when Luther uses his power as an advantage over him; it’s no wonder why they get along about as well as cats and dogs. (With Luther as their Dad’s good, loyal dog.)

“Where were you?” Luther persists.

Diego relaxes his arm and when Luther’s grip weakens in response, he pulls it back. _Thankfully, he has his own tricks for situations like this._

“None of your fucking business,” he sneers, opening the door to his room harshly, “and if you come in my room, I will cut you,” then he slams the door in Luther’s glum face. He felt that threat on his skin already, so Diego knows he’ll stay away.

He plops down on his bed, listening to the sound of Luther’s feet shifting in front of the door for a second longer and then stomping away. Diego sighs.

  * ●●●●



He scuffs the toe of his boot on the pavement, walking ahead of Sam and Dean. They’re bickering and he looks over his shoulder to find Dean holding Sam in a headlock, scrubbing his knuckles over Sam’s hair and Sam batting at him with his hands, swearing.

He turns fully and raises an eyebrow at them, wondering how long it will take them to notice.

Apparently, they’re staying in the city for a few weeks, and Sam is getting enrolled in local middle school, so Diego agreed to show them the shortest way to get to it from the house they rented. Even though he never stepped a foot in that school.

Dean catches his look and his face turns sheepish- Sam uses the distraction to squirm out of his hold and pinch his neck.

“Ow! Bitch!” Dean yelps, making a grab for him, but Sam dashes behind Diego, shouting, “You deserved it, jerk!”

“You two are unbelievable,” Diego comments, shaking his head. He doesn’t remember the last scuffle with Luther that didn’t result in both of them having nosebleeds; Diego because Luther is an uncoordinated dick who can’t control his strength, and Luther because Diego is a petty little fucker.

Sam scrunches his face at him, dodging Dean’s arms, “Don’t you have siblings?”

“We don’t really get along,” Diego tells him.

Sam masks the sad expression he makes, but Diego catches it for the split second it’s there. He fingers the blade in his pocket. He wants to tell him there’s no need for that; Luther’s not worth it. Really.

“But there’s, like, seven of you. You don’t get along with any of them?”

Diego chews the inside of his cheek, “Five. There’s five of us now. And not really.”

It’s not completely true. He can be nice to Allison when she’s nice to him (which is just slightly more frequently than when Luther is nice to him). They’re not enemies, he just can’t stomach it when they’re acting all ‘holier than thou’ when they’ve had eating competitions in Griddy’s Doughnuts since they were eight.

(Luther always won because he’s a person shaped black hole, Allison and he were usually even, depending on who ate more that day. Five, Vanya and Ben never participated; Ben and Vanya were always picky and slow eaters, and Five was always above those “childish games”. Klaus participated every now and then (apparently he had to prepare himself and give his stomach a warning a few days before the competition), and those times were always memorable because he’d beat Luther every time and then throw up in the parking lot.)

He’s still good with Vanya, but she spends most of her time practicing her violin and honestly seems happier when Diego’s not bothering her. And Klaus is…well. Klaus is Klaus. Diego is not too keen on saying it out loud, but he doesn’t mind Klaus hanging around. He could live with more Klaus in his life. But Klaus doesn’t need him. Or doesn’t want him.

“Five?” Dean asks curiously and Diego has to think for a bit to realize he doesn’t mean it as ‘Five’.

“Uh, yeah. Five disappeared when we were younger.”

“Five? Is that a name?”

Diego nods. He ran off before Mom gave them names. And it just seemed stupid to name him afterward; there wasn't a Michael or Jonathan missing, Five was.

“What kind of a name is that?” Sam wonders, falling into step with him, Dean on the other side.

Diego snorts, “A weird one.”

Five didn’t mind it though; in fact, he was the only one of them who never wanted a normal name. Even Luther admitted, hesitantly and meekly, that he’d like a real name, but Five just shrugged. “I’m not normal, so I don’t need a normal name,” he had said.

“That’s for sure,” Dean agrees. He starts to say something else, but the TV screen behind the show-window catches his attention and he stops.

Diego and Sam join him in staring at it.

They can’t hear anything, but there’s a line of text in the bottom that Diego blinks at before the words register.

‘A couple found dead, eyeballs exploded’ flashes at them, a reporter speaking seriously above the text.

“Let me guess,” Diego starts, “this counts as supernaturally weird shit?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dean responds over the sound of Sam sighing.

  * ●●●●



They huddle on the picnic table in the park, newspaper open between them.

“This is so weird, how come you didn’t notice?” Dean asks him, bewildered.

Diego shrugs. He has no excuse.

“What are you thinking?” He asks back.

Dean furrows his eyebrows for a moment, scratching the back of his neck, “Might be a witch. They like making other people’s body parts to explode.”

He’s not joking.

“…Great.” Diego mutters for the lack of anything better to say. He sets his elbows on the table and leans his face on his palms, getting ready for the lesson.

“So, witches?”

Dean sets the newspaper aside, “Well, they like magic. Obviously. Hex bags and all that shit. Also pretty disgusting with the whole human sacrifice thing here and there and all the gross shit that they use. No way to tell them apart from normal people though. Except if you catch them in the act, or find spellbook or ingredients on them or in their house."

Diego hums, “And what when you find out who’s a witch?”

Dean shrugs, “We kill them.”

“Just like that?”

“They’re still mortal, most of them. So you know, decapitation and such things work as a, heh, _charm_.”

Diego snorts at the pun. Though that’s not what he asked.

“What about talking to them?”

Dean frowns, “What? Haven’t tried, but, hey, I’m sure you could bore them to death.”

Diego huffs, “Dickhead. That’s not what I asked. Couldn’t you just talk to them? Ask them to stop?”

Dean sobers up, “They’re witches,” he says like that explains it, “you can’t talk someone evil into goodness.”

Diego wants to argue- maybe they’re not all evil, some of them are maybe just misguided- but a tiny voice to his left cuts him off.

“What happened to your face?”

He looks down at the kid, a boy who couldn’t be older than six looking up at him, kicking his untied sneaker against the ground.

He leans down so he can say quietly, “I was running with my shoelaces untied.”

The kid’s eyes go wide, doing a few shifts between his feet and Diego’s face before he screeches, “Mom!” at the top of his lungs.

Dean stifles laughter into his fist, his shoulders shaking and giving him away. Diego’s lips twitch in response.

A woman hurries toward them, marching with purpose and glares at Diego, eyeing his face with disapproval, as she scoops her kid up and speed walks away.

Diego snickers. When he looks over at Dean, he’s frowning at the woman’s retreating back.

“What?”

Dean shakes his head but then says, "Nothing. It's just… this look she gave you."

Diego frowns, “What look? People look at me like that all the time.”

Dean almost winces, but soldiers on, “Like she saw you drowning a litter of kittens, man.”

“Oh.”

There’s silence for a moment, then Dean says, “You’re a horrible person, lying to kids like that.”

Diego turns to look at him innocently, “Maybe I didn’t lie.”

Dean snorts, chuckling until he realizes Diego’s not laughing along. He gapes at Diego, expression slack, “Wait…it’s not- no way,” he shakes his head, “you’re messing with me.”

“Am I?” Diego asks back, keeping his face carefully blank.

Dean’s look turns suspicious, “Bullshit.”

Diego shrugs, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Quit messing with my head,” Dean tells him.

“Okay. Believe what you want.”

“You really are a horrible person, just so you know.”

  * ●●●●



Diego is jerked from sleep by his phone going off. He grapples for it blindly and presses it to his ear, answering it with a grunt.

“Diego? Are you awake?”

He looks up at his dark ceiling, squinting at the phone screen and saying, “Dean?”

“Yeah. You’re sleeping?”

“Do I sound like I’m sleeping?”

“A little bit. Wanna go check out the crime scenes with me?”

Diego looks at his alarm clock and stares at the red digits, “Now? It’s almost midnight.”

“Oh, sorry, do you need your beauty sleep?”

Diego scoffs, “Fuck off.”

“Fuck off as in ‘I’m not going’ or fuck off as in ‘you’re an ass, but I’m going’?”

Diego sighs. He’s awake now, so whatever, “The latter. I’ll call back in ten.”

He hangs up and dresses quietly, pocketing a flashlight and a couple of his knives. Boots in hands, he leaves his room- and runs into Allison.

They stare at each other for a second, then Allison narrows her eyes at his boots.

“Where are you going?”

She’s wearing her pajamas, but there are two soda bottles and a bag of chips in her hands.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Diego shoots back even though he already knows that she’s going to the roof with Luther. He’s not telling her anything because of previous experiences he knows that the chances of her telling Luther and Luther telling Dad are bigger than he’s comfortable with.

She sniffs, “That’s none of your business.”

“Likewise, then,” he responds with a grin.

Allison frowns, pouting, but doesn’t say anything else.

Diego turns to continue his ‘sneak-out’, but the door to the stairwell leading to the attic creaks open and Luther pokes his head out, “Alisson-“ he starts and cuts off when he sees Diego, eyes widening comically.

Oh, fantastic.

“Uh,” Luther starts, looking between him and Allison, “we were just- where are you going?”

Diego stifles a groan.

“Out,” he says sharply.

Luther looks at him suspiciously, stepping into the hallway fully and crossing his arms over his chest. Like that ever worked on Diego. “Why?”

“Because what do you care.”

He keeps walking down the stairs, rolling his eyes so hard they hurt for a moment when he hears footsteps following after him.

“Can’t you just leave me alone?”

“When you tell me where you’re going,” Luther responds.

Diego scowls, stopping by the door and shoving his feet in his boots, “And why the fuck would I do that?”

He catches Luther frowning from a corner of his eyes, “Because I’m Number One-“

“So? I’m N-number Two, it doesn’t mean shit, Luther,” he spits out and reaches for the door.

Luther sets his hand on it, blocking Diego from leaving.

Diego glares at him, “Move.”

“Tell me where you’re going,” Luther demands. Asshole.

“No.”

Luther sighs, “Tell me where you’re going. Or I’ll call Dad.”

Something crawls under his skin, twisting and turning and Diego bares his teeth. “No wonder you’re his favorite. At his beck and call, like a f-fucking dog,” he sneers venomously.

Luther scowls, hand on the door curling into a fist.

“Luther, don’t,” Allison warns, but it’s too late. Luther swings at him.

  * ●●●●



Diego lets himself in, the house covered in darkness, and police tape already ripped from the front door. He runs his flashlight over the walls and furniture, sees a similar beam of light coming from the doorway, deeper in.

The light goes out and there’s a quiet hiss of “Diego?”

He grunts, wincing at how it burns his throat and says, “Yeah.”

The light is back and Dean appears from the doorway, “Dude, it took you forev- what the hell happened to you?”

Diego rolls his eyes, making his way to the kitchen.

“Nothing, had a, uh, situation before I left.”

He pulls the sleeve of his shirt over his hand and opens the freezer, snatching a bag of frozen peas and holding it to the side of his face. _Oh, sweet relief_.

“Situation?” Dean asks, following after him, “What kind of a situation?”

Diego shrugs, “My brother being a dick.” Though, okay, he could’ve handled that better. It’s just, well, his mouth runs off on him more often than not and he doesn’t exactly try to stop it, if he’s being honest. Probably one of the bigger reasons why Dad doesn’t like him…

Even in the relative darkness, he can see Dean’s eyebrows running for his hairline, “Your brother did that? You look like he tried to choke you.”

Ah, yeah, that’d be Luther being an idiot who still hasn’t figured out that chokeholds don’t work on someone who can hold their breath as long as they what.

“Yeah, that’s Luther for you.”

Dean splutters.

Diego waves him off, “Anyway, what are we looking for?”

And it’s not like Luther came out of it unscratched either, so it’s fine.

Dean gapes at him for a second longer, then sighs, “Hex bags. Just look everywhere.”

  * ●●●●



They look everywhere. Literally. Under the bed, in the cupboards in the kitchen, in the damn toilet. Finally, Dean emerges from the bedroom holding a small, green bag in his hand.

“Got it,” he says victoriously, grinning at Diego.

“Nice. What now?”

Dean shrugs, “Well, we know for sure it’s a witch. Now we need to find who it is and-“

His response is cut short when a police siren wails outside, red and blue lights flashing in through the window. They look at each other.

“ _Fuck._ ”

“ _Shit._ ”

They take off through the back, but one of the cops has already made his way around and Dean shoves him into a bush, running past him. It would be hilarious if they weren’t the ones getting chased by him (actually, it is hilarious, but Diego doesn’t have time to laugh at the moment).

They run down the street and it occurs to Diego that this would be much easier if they had a car.

“Where’s your car?” He yells at Dean.

Dean makes a strangled noise, “I came by foot.”

“You what?!”

“The house is five minutes away! I walked here!”

_Unbelievable_.

He swears and pulls Dean into an alley, leading him through a maze of brick walls and metal fences. By the time they’re sure they got the cops off their tail, they are considerably closer to Diego’s neighborhood than they are to Dean’s.

“Well, this wasn’t so bad,” Dean says.

And then it starts to rain.

Dean aims a brilliant, apologetic smile at him, hair already plastered to his forehead.

Diego scowls, “You just couldn’t keep it to yourself, huh?”

  * ●●●●



Due to the fact that it started pouring like heaven opened up, Diego makes a decision ( _a horrible, stupid decision_ ) to take them back home. To the Academy.

They sneak in, door quietly clicking shut when Diego closes them, then bends down to take off his boots.

Dean is looking around with wide eyes, mouthing  “Wow” at Diego when he takes off his shoes as well.

“You didn’t tell me you’re rich, damn,” he comments as Diego leads them down to the kitchen. They need paper towels or something to mop up the puddles they left in the lobby.

“It never came up,” Diego says.

“Oh, hey, man, let me pay, since I’m rich and shit,” Dean jokes.

Diego snorts and shoves a roll of paper towels in his hands.

They make a quick job of cleaning up their mess and Diego chucks his last used towel in the garbage when the familiar sound of heels clicking on the floor echoes through the house.

Diego has about three mini heart attacks by the time he shoves Dean behind the huge crate of flour behind the metal shelving unit and strips down to his underwear and T-shirt, chucking his wet clothes at Dean's startled face.

He had just kicked his boots out of the view when the light turns on and Mom enters the room, not a hair out of place, even though it’s well past midnight.

“Diego, what are you doing up?”

“I, uh, I was thirsty. I just came in to grab a glass of water,” he says, grabbing a random glass off the counter, “sorry for alarming you.”

Mom smiles at him warmly, hands cupped together at her middle, “Don’t worry about that. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I won’t,” he responds giving a quick smile back before she leaves.

Once he can’t hear her walking around anymore, he lets out a breath, hanging his head.

He turns towards the crate and whispers just loud enough that Dean can hear him, “You can come out now.”

Dean gets up, a heap of Diego’s clothing in his arms. He wiggles his eyebrows at Diego, “Do I get undressed now too, or are we taking this to the bedroom?”

Diego snorts and turns, making his way to the stairs where there’s no light so that Dean can’t see the flush creeping over his skin.

  * ●●●●



Diego wakes up to the sound of his alarm clock screaming in his ears, feeling like he got run over by a truck. He sits up, stretching and yawning to try and clear the fog in his head, almost tripping over a rumpled camping bag on the floor when he stands up.

Dean was supposed to just sleep over and sneak out while everyone’s still asleep, but he snuck out after it stopped raining, a couple of hours ago.

The bathroom is unoccupied, so he can be sure he’s late for breakfast; though he takes the opportunity to enjoy his morning shower without anyone banging on the door, instead of hurrying. It doesn’t matter anyway, Mom kept a plate of pancakes for him, which he practically swallows whole. He always is more hungry when he didn’t have enough sleep.

The training was… a fucking nightmare. Luther shoved him too hard and sent him into a weights stand, so now he has round shaped bruises all over his back (and on his ass). He did apologize for it, though.

 Lunch was the normal cold silence with Dad staring at his bruised face for a moment, but then ignoring him as usual. Diego is actually too tired to be as angry about it as he usually is.

The afternoon is godsent. Diego crashes on his bed and barely moves a muscle, about to fall asleep when the buzzing of his phone startles him into alertness. He growls and answers it with a grunt.

“Hey! Did you have lunch already? I was thinking we could check the records at the library today,” Dean says, annoyingly cheery.

Diego grumbles.

“Diego? Uh, are you okay?”

Diego grumbles again. _That’s up for debate_.

“Seriously, are you even awake?”

_Sadly_.

“Too tired to speak,” he mutters.

“Dude, it’s past noon,” Dean tells him like he doesn’t know that.

“8 am,” Diego simply responds.

There’s silence for a bit, while Dean works out what he means, and he’s back to almost dozing off when Dean exclaims, “You slept for three hours only?!” so loudly that Diego jerks so hard he almost falls out of his bed.

“Hush,” he hisses at Dean.

“Why?”

“Shower, training, lunch,” Diego recites.

“What?”

"Ugh," Diego says, his sleep-deprived brain not having the patience to talk right now, and hangs up.

  * ●●●●



He wakes up very, very late in the evening- or rather, Mom wakes him up for dinner- and then he goes to the range, throwing knives until his arms hurt. He vaguely remembers talking to Dean, half afraid that he set lunch with him and then just… _fell asleep_. He should’ve probably warned him that he doesn’t function very well while running on steam.

He calls him while he’s plucking his knives out of the target.

Dean picks up after the second ring. “You fucker,” he says, “you hung up on me.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Sorry? What were you doing the whole day?”

Diego shrugs even though Dean can’t see him, “Sleeping.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep. You?”

“Went to the library, dug around a bit and found three potential witches,” Dean tells him.

“Oh? What now?”

“Now, we eliminate them.”

“You do know how ominous that sounds, right?” He asks, shimmying the knife that sunk really deep into the wood.

“I meant, we find out which one of them is the witch.” Dean reformulates with a sigh.

“Okay. So, how do we do that? Stakeouts?”

"Stakeouts."

  * ●●●●



They've parked across the street from the first suspect. It's boring, as stakeouts are 97% of the time, because it's that kind of a neighborhood with white picket fences and big, happy families that own at least one dog. Diego was counting the wood planks on the fences, but gave up when Dean accidentally nudged him and he lost the count.

He kicks his legs up on the dashboard with a sigh, arms crossed and staring numbly at the suspect’s house. It’s a nice house, with a rich garden up front, vines climbing and curling around the pillars of the small porch.

They’re waiting for the suspect to leave- according to Dean, there’s a party of some kind in the golf club that they’re a member of- and Diego is slowly starting to think that they might just decide to skip. The lights are on, though, so he’s got his fingers crossed that the guy’s getting ready.

Dean crunches on chips, looking out at the house carefully. The lamp outside is not doing much in terms of helping Diego read his expression properly.

“Hey-” Dean starts, turning to glance at him, and then scowls, “Dude, feet off the dashboard, what the hell.”

Diego rolls his eyes, but drops his legs back on the floor obediently.

Dean shakes his head at him, as if to ask “Seriously?”.

Diego shrugs. It’s not like he was trampling through mud or something.

“You were going to say something,” he reminds him.

“Oh, right,” Dean blinks, “there’s some curly haired chick coming in.”

Diego scoots over the seat to take a better look, automatically looking for a dark blue uniform even though Allison wouldn’t be caught dead in it in the public. He catches a swoosh of dark curls entirely too familiar and climbs over Dean to see better, almost plastering his face against the window.

Dean makes a strangled noise, pushing back against the backrest, “What are you- Diego, wai- _ow, fuck, move your knee_ ,” and squirming.

Diego blinks at the slender figure standing on the porch, noticing that the hair is a bit too short, and a face that’s not Allison either. He sighs in relief; it would’ve been a pain if they ended up working the same case-

He loses the precious balance he managed to establish when Dean shifts, making his knee slip on the leather upholstery and he reaches out- both of them swearing- one hand on the window glass and the other gripping the backrest, so he doesn’t fall.

They stay still for a moment, eyes widening when a beam of light suddenly breaks in from the outside. Diego can feel the vibrations on his hand when the cop raps his knuckles against the window.

Dean reaches around him and rolls it down. _Fuck, they’ll need a really good explanation for this_ , Diego thinks.

The cop looks between the two of them, not looking impressed, “Don’t you kids have anything better to do?”

“Uh-“ Dean starts, but the cop keeps talking.

“At least rent a room. I’m sure it’s in both of our interests that I don’t arrest you for public indecency,” he says, sounding bored.

At that moment, Diego realizes with mortification how exactly their position looks like. He very carefully doesn’t look at Dean, feeling his face heat up.

“Uh, yeah, we’ll, uh, um, do that,” Dean stammers out, clearing his throat, because thinking they’re, uh, doing _that_ is better than knowing they were planning on breaking into a house.

The cop gives them one last disapproving look, then leaves, shaking his head and muttering about “kids these days.”

Dean shifts to roll up the window and Diego quickly scrambles back into his seat. They sit in silence for a second longer, then Dean speaks up, hands on the steering wheel.

“I never thought I’d say this, but I’m so glad you sat in my lap.”

Diego chokes on his saliva, “Don’t mention it.”

Seriously, they should _never ever_ again speak of this, otherwise, Diego might just burst in flames.

  * ●●●●



Dean re-parks a few blocks away, and they make their way to a now empty house. Aside from a stash of Cuban cigars that have Diego’s lungs seizing uncomfortably by just looking at them, there’s nothing suspicious there. The guy could definitely throw his laundry for a wash before it grows a culture, though.

“You found anything upstairs?” Dean asks him when they meet up in the living room.

He shakes his head, “Nothing. You?”

“Nah. The guy’s clean.”

Diego sighs. So that leaves two suspects now.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Is that a booty call?” Dean jokes.

Diego levels him with a look that he hopes conveys both “ _fuck you_ ” and “ _please stop_.”

Dean just laughs.

  * ●●●●



It turns out that the next night is just as much of a missed shot s the first one. There’s not incriminating in the house, every room searched to the smallest crack, but there was nothing. They’ve called it a night and stopped at Griddy’s for a quick bite before going their separate ways.

Diego left a few extra bills with Agnes again, even after getting informed that Klaus didn’t come in recently. It’s not exactly alarming- there are times when Klaus drops off the face of the Earth for longer than a few weeks, not answering his phone and nowhere where Diego could usually find him- but Diego still doesn’t like it. Especially since he met Dean and found out what exactly lurks in the shadows.

He calls him while walking back home, fresh, night air cooling his skin. The call rings five times before Klaus picks up, and then Diego can barely hear him over the pounding of the bass in the background. At least he sounds fine and alive; giggling and speaking, his voice overlapping with a cacophony of others. He probably won’t remember this call in the morning. Or noon. Or whenever the fuck he comes down from his high.

Diego cracks his knuckles, listening to Klaus' off-key singing for a while and then hangs up.

  * ●●●●



“Hey, can I ask you something?” Sam asks him hesitantly while Dean’s in the restroom.

Diego frowns slightly, nodding even though he has no idea what this could be about, “Shoot.”

Sam pokes at the leaf of salad on his plate, not looking him in the eyes, “It’s, uh. It’s about your family.”

“Oh,” Diego breathes out, “okay. What about them?”

"Well, you don't really get along?"

Diego pops a fry in his mouth and chews, thinking about his response. He has a feeling that Sam’s not just curious about his home life.

“We’re…complicated.”

Sam frowns, “Oh. But- do you hate them?”

Diego huffs, “Sometimes.”

“Really?”

“I guess they really know how to push my buttons, you know?” He shrugs.

Sam squirms, throwing a look over his shoulder, “Then why are you still hanging around?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, why are you doing what you’re doing? If you don’t get along well, why are you doing something that keeps you with them?”

Oh. Diego thinks he knows what this is about. He has to play this carefully, otherwise, Dean might lynch him.

He sighs, “Because one, I don’t have money for my own apartment. Two, I’m, uh, I’m really good at what I do, and I like it,” he says with a laugh, “and three, because they might make me want to strangle them more often than not, but they’re still my family. No matter how utterly fucked up.”

Sam is quiet, nodding. It doesn’t look like Diego helped him. Or maybe he just didn’t hear what he wanted to hear.

"Listen," Diego says, knowing Dean would end him for what he's about to say, "I am where I am right now. That doesn't mean nothing will change in the future. Um, my dad? He’s a fucking bastard, alright? There’s no other way around it. And I hate him, I do, really. So believe me when I tell you, your dad is not all that bad.”

Sam bristles at that, but Diego hushes him, “I don’t know him all that well, but if I had to guess, I’d say he’s just worried about you. He’s shit at showing it, but at least he cares,” he says, chews at the inside of his cheek.

“That doesn’t mean you have to listen to everything he says.”

Sam looks up at him in surprise, narrows his eyes at him, “You were just justifying everything he does.”

Diego shakes his head, “I’m just saying he cares. It doesn’t mean he’s always right. Look, I should be minding my own business, but if you don’t like where you are, you work on getting out of there. If you don’t want to hunt, then don’t. Simple as that. Because if you miss your chance to do what you really want, you’re going to resent your family forever. Trust me, I should know.”

He really has no idea how much sense he’s making, if what he’s saying has any meaning or not. No matter how much he thinks about it, he still can’t quite form it into words that show exactly what he means.

But Sam looks at him like he understands everything. He nods, swallowing, “Okay, I- thanks.”

Diego shakes his head, “Just don’t tell Dean.”

Sam smiles, “I won’t.”

  * ●●●●



There is only one house left for them to search, though they can’t do that until Saturday, when the owner is spending the evening in some fancy restaurant that Diego has a feeling Reginald would like if he ever left the damn Academy.

As it is, they’ll just have to wait for the Saturday to roll around, two days from now.

The silverware clinks against the plates, the only noise in hollow silence that fills the Hargreeves lunchtime. Dad is ignoring them all, eating his food with poshy kind of elegance that makes Diego roll his eyes. Luther and Allison are glancing at each other all puppy-like, and Diego exchanges a look with Vanya. She presses her lips into a thin line to prevent herself from laughing and then scoops another spoonful of mashed potatoes in her mouth.

Mom’s breezing in and out, checking if anyone needs a refill of anything, like they’re incapable of pouring more juice in their glasses.

Though he knows that’s just how she is. She’s been programmed to raise, protect and serve- so that’s what she’s doing. It’s sure as hell more than what Dad ever did. The man couldn’t even be bothered to give them proper names, for fuck’s sake.

Diego pokes at his steak, not all that hungry, and smiles at her when she looks at him. She smiles back.

  * ●●●●



He helped Mom with the dishes afterward, choosing that over lazing around in his room, and was at the door, getting ready to leave, when he caught Vanya on the stairs.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi,” she responds, shuffling her feet. She’s going to her room to practice, no doubt. It’s what she does almost all the time anyway.

Now that Diego thinks about it, it’s been a while since the two of them hung out. He drums his fingers on the door for a second, then asks, “I was going to get ice cream. Wanna tag along?”

“You’re sure?”

Diego shrugs, “Yeah. It’s good ice cream weather outside, let’s go.”

She gives him a tiny smile, “Okay,” and hurries down the stairs.

  * ●●●●



Diego kicks his feet out, soaking up the sun and licking his strawberry mint ice cream before it drips all over his hand. Vanya is having similar troubles with her vanilla, sitting cross-legged on the bench beside him, trying to appear as small as she can, like she’s not tiny already.

“Allison asked me if I know where you’re going all the time lately,” she informs him.

_Of course, she did_ , Diego thinks, humming.

“I said I don’t know,” Vanya says, like Diego could think any different.

“Okay,” he responds.

“Are you getting in trouble? I promise I won’t tell.”

He shrugs, “Maybe. A little bit. It’s nothing bad.”

Vanya nods. She’s got a sticking plaster on her left index, freshly applied.

“What happened to your finger?”

She wiggles it, “Cut myself on the string earlier. I tightened it up too much.”

Diego hums. An idea crosses his mind and he chews on the inside of his cheek before voicing it.

“Hey, what do you want to do?”

Vanya looks at him, puzzled, “What?”

“You know, what do you want to do later? When we get older, move out.”

“I,” she frowns, “I don’t know. I never really thought about that. Why are you asking?”

“Just so. You could give lessons. Or maybe perform.”

She raises her eyebrows at him, like he lost his mind, “Me? Perform?”

He nods, “Yeah, why not?”

She shrugs, choosing not to answer.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” He catches a drop of ice cream before it drips on his jeans, licking it off the side of his thumb.

“What will you do?”

He frowns at her, “This. What else would I do?”

“I thought you might want to go to college,” Vanya says.

“I was homeschooled by Dad. I’m kinda done with people pouring useless knowledge in my head.”

Vanya hums, “Well, what about something else then? Maybe not college. How about a police academy?”

Diego pauses, blinks at her, “Police academy?”

“Yeah. You love catching bad guys and helping people. You could be good at it,” she tells him, smiling a small, but encouraging smile at him.

Diego laughs, though he’s not completely dismissing the idea.

  * ●●●●



He meets Dean on the corner of the street where their last suspect lives, the neighborhood of fancy mansions and high brick fences.

“He left already?”

Dean nods, making his way towards the more secluded part of the fence, hidden in the dark, “Yeah, about ten minutes ago.”

There are thick ropes of vine crawling over the fence- more of a wall, honestly- so it’s not that hard to get in. The mansion itself is not that much different from the Academy, minus the slight creepiness (thanks, Dad), with vast rooms and tall ceilings obvious even in the darkness.

Dean flashes his flashlight around, then looks at Diego, “Let’s hope that this guy is a slow eater.”

Diego snorts and turns to search the kitchen.

The cupboards are filled with cereal boxes, spices, and dishes, the usual stuff, but that's why Diego finds a jar of blood and a bag filled with chicken legs in the fridge.

"Dean," he calls out, holding them both in his hands with a disgusted expression, "I found something."

No answer. Great, Dean probably went upstairs.

Diego sighs, closing the fridge with his hip and goes to find Dean.

“Dean,” he calls out once more, but there’s no response this time either. His voice echoes for a moment, quickly dissolving.

He leaves the bag of chicken legs downstairs because that’s just gross, and stomps upstairs. He’s just stepped into the hallway when something collides with him, the force of it sending both him and his attacker to the floor, the jar slipping out of his grip and smashing on the stairs.

Diego swears before hands find his throat, his fingers finding eyeballs instead of trying to dislodge them. He digs his thumbs in, causing his attacker to scream in pain and shoves him off, sending him tumbling down the stairs.

“Dean!” He yells, climbing to his feet.

There’s a muffled noise coming from the room on his right and he finds Dean tied to a chair, gagged. He unties him quickly.

“The witch is here, he never-“

“Left? Yeah, I just found out, let’s go.” If they’re lucky, the bastard will just be recovering from that tumble when they reach him.

Diego sees a flash of movement from the top of the stairwell and races down, chasing after it with Dean following close behind.

They reach the stairs to what Diego bets is a creepy ass basement, and Dean snatches the back of his jacket to stop him from rushing in. Diego wouldn’t do that, but he appreciates the worry, feeling warm. Must be the adrenaline.

The stairwell leading down is too narrow for them to walk next to each other, so Diego goes first, stepping carefully because he can’t see shit. Really, it’s a fucking horrible situation they found themselves in, but they’re here already so… go big or go home.

He slides his hand over the wall next to him, feeling for a corner, and when they curl around it, he stomps on the last step a bit harder, enough to make noise. Dean swears. A hand shoots out, holding a shovel out of all things, and Diego grabs their witch by the wrist, flipping him over his back. They both go down again because Diego trips over a rope, the light suddenly on because Diego brushes his hand over the switch on his way down.

They wrestle for a second before Dean jumps in, though, really, it doesn't make much difference; there's just additional set of limbs in the game, making things trickier because it's surprisingly difficult to tell apart two different pairs of arms.

In the end, it’s both Dean and Diego on the ground, trying to buck off the witch, a metal pipe pressed over their throats held in his hands. The bastard is unnaturally strong, and he knows it, grinning smugly at them. Diego couldn’t care less; it’s not like he can actually suffocate him, but Dean is trashing, running out of the air.

Diego stops struggling, and palms the knife from his pocket, preparing himself for the complete clusterfuck this will become.

He presses the blade into the witch’s throat and with a swift stroke slices it. The warmth washes over his skin, blood gushing over his chin and neck as the witch convulses above them. They shove him away, and Dean immediately starts gasping. His neck and the shirt and drenched in blood, same with Diego.

Dean groans, “Oh, man,” he croaks, “this sucks.”

“Ugh,” Diego agrees, wiping his face.

The witch gags for the last time and goes still.

"Let me guess," Diego starts, staring at the body, "Fire?"

“Yep,” Dean agrees with a huff.

  * ●●●●



They’re in the parking lot of a closed shop, about to get dressed after they scrubbed off the blood from their skin, everything except their clean clothes put away in the hidden department in the trunk of Dean’s car when the sirens whoop as a police cruiser rolls in. Diego’s heart sinks.

He exchanges a look with Dean, both of them in nothing but their underwear, standing near a car in the middle of a vacant lot.

“You gotta be fucking with me,” Dean says disbelievingly. Diego looks up at the sky, wondering if God is having a laugh over this.

  * ●●●●



"No offense," Dean starts, sitting next to him in a cell, "but there's no fucking way I'm calling my dad to bail me out for public indecency. With you.”

“None taken. I’m not calling my dad either,” Diego says.

This would be hilarious if it weren’t happening to him.

“What do we do then?” Dean asks him, “’Cause Sam can’t bail us out.”

Diego smacks the back of his head against the wall and sighs.

“Hey,” he yells, “I want to use my one phone call!”

  * ●●●●



Vanya doesn’t say a word when they arrive, but the look she gives him speaks volumes. If she was more carefree, she’d be laughing her ass off right now.

“We won’t talk about this ever again,” he tells her through the bars while Mom’s sorting out their bail.

“Got it. You know, this is what I had in mind when I asked if you’re getting into trouble,” she says jokingly, eyes shimmering with glee.

“In my defense, I didn’t expect this to happen.”

Dean’s looking between the two of them curiously, so Diego says, “Dean, Vanya, Vanya, Dean.”

“Hi, I’d say nice to meet you, but it’d be nicer if we were somewhere else,” Dean says.

Vanya nods, biting down on a grin, “Understandable.”

Mom comes in then, the tell-tale clicking of her heels drawing in looks. She smiles pleasantly at them.

“Thanks for this, Mom,” Diego says. He can just hope Dad won’t find out and ask for a report about this.

“Of course,” she says, stepping aside while the officer unlocks their cell, “c’mon, children, let’s go.”

  * ●●●●



Diego takes a sip of his milk, waiting for Dean to finish his burger.

“Dude,” Dean tells him, “I can’t believe that’s your mom.”

“Why not?”

“She super hot and super nice. Why’d she marry your dad if he’s such an asshole?”

Diego ignores the first part and shrugs, “They’re not married.”

Dean pauses, “Really? Then how…” he trails off, gesturing with his hand uselessly to describe Diego’s life. _It’s a very accurate gesture_ , Diego thinks.

He doesn't actually know how Mom came into the picture. They were four and then she was just there, a relief from all those nannies that would pinch his cheeks all the damn time.

“I don’t actually know,” he admits.

“Huh,” Dean hums, shoving the remains of his burger in his mouth.

Diego scrunches his nose at him and goes to pay. He leaves the extra few bills again, just in case.

**Author's Note:**

> These fics are all taking place when Diego and Dean are around 17-ish (hopefully, I managed to hint at that- I don't remember), and there's a possible time jump in one of the future fics where I'll skip one period of time, so just heads up so there's no confusion lol :D


End file.
